


To Cling, Amidst Devastation

by IamShadow21



Series: Ruin and Devastation [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Harry, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Godric's Hollow, Grief/Mourning, POV Sirius Black, Parenthood, Raising Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-27
Updated: 2008-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius arrives at the Potter house, in the aftermath of the attack.<br/><i>Pre-Azkaban AU, taking place on 31st October/1st November 1981.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	To Cling, Amidst Devastation

**Author's Note:**

> Another 'what if', this time, what if Sirius had arrived at Godric's Hollow before Hagrid?
> 
> Big thanks to [fitzette](http://fitzette.livejournal.com) and [mrsquizzical](http://mrsquizzical.livejournal.com), who baby-picked for me to make sure I hadn't made Harry too infantile or precocious.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing Sirius-centric! Woo!

_Not the bike_ , Sirius thought frantically. _Too slow_.

He left it where it stood, propped up on its centre stand outside Wormtail’s open front door, turned on his heel and Disapparated. There was the familiar, horrendous squeezing, then the welcome sensation of ground beneath his feet once again.

When his vision came into focus, any desperate hope he may have clung onto dissipated like mist. The house was dark, and… _crumpled_ somehow, as though it had been made of delicate paper and crushed by a careless hand. The scent on the air was that of scorched wood and Dark magic.

“ _No…_ ”

He heard the whimper escape his lips unchecked, even as he pushed the gate wide and ran up the narrow path, the lavender bushes releasing a cloud of heady perfume as he brushed roughly past them. The door hung drunkenly on its hinges, and in the faint starlight he could see, just inside, the outline of a shoe, a leg, a slightly curled hand.

Sirius fell hard to his knees on the wooden boards, but the twin jolts of pain barely registered. James’ skin was cool, his limbs loose and floppy, his stare vacant. As much as Sirius shouted and shook him, he didn’t stir. Some childlike, frightened part of his brain was telling him it was all a lie, a bad dream. Any moment his friend was going to laugh and wrestle Sirius onto his back, tickling him, telling him what a gullible fool he was for believing he could possibly be dead. Any minute, now, he would take a breath, his eyes would focus and his lips would flush crimson. Any second…

James lay still and silent.

“Prongs…” Sirius whimpered, collapsing back against the wall. “You can’t…I won’t…I won’t let you…” he moaned.

A soft sound snapped him out of his trance, and suddenly he was on his feet, stepping over the body of his dearest friend, stalking towards the stairs on noiseless feet. He was a soldier again in an ugly war, training taking over and pushing back his grief. Even as the tears were drying on his cheeks he was treading carefully on the risers in the places he knew would make the least sound if they creaked.

 _There was no Dark Mark_ , his analytical brain informed him. _The bastard’s still here…_

The burnt smell was stronger up here, the curse residue thick as poisonous incense. Another small sound…a cough? Sirius stretched his long legs to step over a pile of masonry, bent double to duck under a fallen beam. The doorway to the nursery was unrecognizable; a ragged hole in the wall through which he could see strange uneven shapes and a sprinkling of stars. Part of the roof was gone; caved in or blown away.

Even over the pounding of his heart, he could hear a snuffling sound, a slight movement. He inched forward slowly, slowly. It wouldn’t do to go marching in and get his head blown off. From a few feet away, he could see another body ( _Lily_ , his soul cried, _No, please, not Lily_ ) that he could tell at a glance was not going to move again. The angle of the neck, the limbs, the charred skin…

Another shuffle on the floor, a soft sneeze, a hiccup. Sirius gauged the direction of the sound and stepped through the hole in the wall, his wand held firm, a curse on his lips…

The baby…sweet Merlin, _the baby_. He’d nearly killed his own godson. 

Harry sat in the midst of the wreckage, the charred sticks and fabric surrounding him the only remnants of his crib. Thin streaks of blood from a gash on his forehead painted his face. “Pah pah pah,” he babbled, his expression troubled, holding his arms out in an entreaty to be picked up.

Sirius released his held breath in a choked sob, knelt down and gathered Harry into his arms in one fluid motion. Sirius could feel the cloth of Harry’s pyjamas crumbling to powder beneath his fingertips as he clung to the child tightly. _Alive_ , was all he could think. _Alive in this hellish place_.

“Pah. Pah,” Harry said with an anxious edge to his voice.

“Shhh,” Sirius soothed. “Padfoot’s here. I’m here, Harry.” His voice trembled. Harry’s babbling turned into a thin wail, his tiny fists clutching at Sirius’ clothing. Sirius stood and moved from that dreadful room with only one backward glance back at Lily’s broken form. He shielded Harry’s eyes as he walked past her, as he stepped over James again and outside. It was all well and good to know rationally that the baby wouldn’t remember, but all he could think was, _Harry shouldn’t have to see them like that. That is my burden to carry. My punishment for failing them._

When Hagrid arrived only minutes later, the house was silent and empty, save for the dead.

***

Sirius pounded on the door, and hoped, nay, _prayed_ with every inch of him that Remus would wait for him to identify himself before blasting away. These were dangerous times. Not even friends were to be trusted. _Especially_ friends. And until tonight, Sirius hadn’t even been sure Remus _was_ a friend anymore.

“Damn it, Moony!” he muttered, kicking the wood, damaging several toes.

Then he heard it – the rattle of a chain lock – and the door cracked open a mere inch. The tip of a wand poked out. Sirius knew that was mainly for show; Remus could hex him just as easily without one, but his proficiency at wandless magic wasn’t common knowledge. 

“Your hands,” Remus said in a deceptively soft voice. Sirius raised his right hand, to show he was unarmed. “The _other_ hand too,” Remus hissed.

“I can’t, I’ll drop –”

“ _The other hand!_ ” Remus demanded, his voice louder, angry, his wand pointing more forcefully at Sirius. At the sudden shout, Harry woke and began to grizzle, uttering tired, miserable sobs.

“– the baby,” Sirius finished wearily. He swayed on his feet a little, suddenly utterly exhausted. He curled his right arm protectively around the crying child, thinking vaguely that if Remus snapped and did start firing off spells, his body should shield Harry. He blearily noted that Remus was there, in front of him, gently leading him inside to the battered sofa. Remus tried to take Harry, too, but Sirius shook his head and held the child tighter, refusing to cede him. 

“– hurt, Padfoot,” Remus was saying quietly, calmly. “If you won’t give him to me, at least turn him around so that I can see to that cut.” Sensible Remus, his eyes full of pain, was helping Sirius loosen his stiff, unwilling arms and readjust the whimpering Harry.

“They’re dead, Remus, they’re dead…James and Lily…” he heard himself repeating over and over. “All my fault…”

“Who did you tell, Sirius?” Remus asked evenly, as he dabbed at Harry’s face with a wet cloth. “Who did you tell the secret to?” Remus still held his wand, almost casually, in his other hand.

“Nobody…I couldn’t…Peter, it was _always_ Peter, and I didn’t know. I told them to choose him, and it was _him_ , and I didn’t know, and they’re _dead_ , Moony, they’re dead… _James_ …James is dead…”

Sirius absently noted that Remus’ eyes flashed for a second, glittering hard and cold. “Peter? _Peter_ was the Secret Keeper? Not you?”

“Not me,” he said hollowly, his voice breaking.

“Did _anyone_ else know?” Remus asked urgently. “Anyone apart from you, Peter, James and Lily?”

Sirius shook his head and rocked Harry, who had broken into fresh tears. Remus patted his back gently and squeezed his shoulder, before leaving the room. Sirius could hear the familiar sounds of Remus preparing tea and clung to the _regularity_ of that in the middle of the worst night of his life. 

Harry’s sobs were fading already, and Sirius saw with surprise that the baby’s eyes were lazily shutting. When Sirius shifted him a little to cradle him more comfortably, Harry did no more than wrinkle his face in displeasure. Sirius watched, numbly, as the baby relaxed from head to toe, as his breaths became deeper and his mouth made odd sucking motions. He didn’t think he’d seen anything so incredible before as this tiny child, this newly-made orphan, drifting off to sleep.

“Here,” Remus whispered, holding out a chipped mug. Sirius took it mechanically, leaning forward awkwardly to sip, so as not to drip tea on the baby.

“I’ve sent a Patronus to Dumbledore,” Remus continued. “Though I suspect he knows by now about…the attack. You’re welcome to stay.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Sirius said automatically, falling back on politeness that he had rarely used since beginning puberty, and never with his closest friends.

“You should try and rest, Padfoot. I doubt anything more will happen tonight. My wards are likely strong enough to hold should anyone unfriendly come a-calling.” 

Remus was being modest, Sirius knew. His wards were superb. 

“Use my bed,” Remus said, taking the empty teacup and encouraging Sirius to stand. 

_When did I finish my tea?_ Sirius wondered. He couldn’t remember. “But you…where will you…?”

Remus shook his head. “I won’t sleep anymore tonight,” he said. 

Sirius noted from this close up that Remus’ eyes were red-rimmed, though he hadn’t seen him shed a tear. He immediately had a mental image of Remus struggling to make the tea not ten minutes earlier, his body racked with spasms as he held in the sounds of grief, completely silent but for the ragged in and out of breath. Yes, that would be like him. An island in his suffering.

“Would you like me to take him?” Remus asked, holding out his hands.

Harry was limp in his arms, but he was warm, and his little lungs drew breath and his heart throbbed in his chest. His eyes were sunken closed in sleep, not open wide and staring blankly.

“I…I can’t,” Sirius said apologetically. “Not…not yet. I’m sorry.”

Remus just nodded as though he’d expected no other answer and guided Sirius through to the tiny bedroom. Sirius sat on the edge of the bed, still holding Harry close, and watched as Remus knelt and unlaced his shoes for him, holding his ankles in a firm grip and slipping his feet out gently. When Sirius lay down with Harry nestled against his chest, Remus pulled the blanket up over them and smoothed it down.

“I’ll let you sleep until you wake of your own accord,” Remus said softly. “I won’t disturb you unless it’s urgent.”

He didn’t say goodnight or sweet dreams, for which Sirius was grateful. At a time like this, either would have been cruel. The door clicked shut.

Harry gave a sigh, settling against Sirius more closely. Through the dim light, Sirius could see the jagged cut marring Harry’s forehead, livid against his velvet baby skin. He felt a surge of fierce, protective love for this tiny scrap of humanity in his arms. James and Lily’s son. _His_ son now; or as good as. Harry.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Sirius murmured to the baby. “No one’s ever going to take you away from me.” He meant it with all his heart.

He pressed his lips once against the downy black hair, and slept.

***

Sirius woke in the dark hours before dawn to find the circle of his arms empty. He sat up and looked about wildly, but before he could spring to his feet, Remus said gently from the end of the bed, “Here, Padfoot. He’s here.”

Harry was sitting contentedly on Remus’ lap, sipping from a cup that was being held carefully to his lips. Sirius felt himself release a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“He started crying about half an hour ago. He was wet,” Remus explained, apologetically. “I _did_ ask before I took him.”

Sirius delved into his memory and recalled, foggily, an insistent wailing, a soft voice, and gentle hands unwinding his arms. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I forgot.”

“I thought you might,” Remus said, placidly. “That’s why I stayed put.” Harry’s gentle rhythmic slurps echoed loudly in the quiet room. “The new nappy is only a clean pair of my pants Transfigured, and you know what my Transfiguration is like, so they might change back.”

“What’s he drinking?” Sirius asked. “Not tea?”

“Cambric,” Remus admitted unrepentantly.

“Snaring them early, Moony?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Never too young for tea,” Remus insisted with a tiny smile that faded almost instantly into an expression of guilt, of shame, at speaking so lightly. “Actually, I didn’t know what else to feed him. I don’t know what he eats, these days.”

“Just about anything, I think, so long as it’s not too hard and it’s cut small enough,” Sirius answered, trying not to wince as he was flooded with images of Harry in his high chair, plucking up one piece of food at a time in his fist and pushing it into his mouth, Lily supervising, James laughing. He shoved that aside, thinking instead of Remus’ mostly bare cupboards, and what he would be likely to have on hand that would be suitable to feed a fifteen month old infant. “Porridge, if you have any oats.”

Remus nodded and moved as if to stand. Sirius felt his arms reaching out as if in supplication, and Remus unquestioningly settled the baby back into his embrace. Harry was obviously tired; his eyes were drooping already and he allowed himself to be drawn close to Sirius’ chest without complaint. This was a far cry from the boisterous child that never wanted to sleep and kept his parents awake at all hours; not crying, but chuckling and wanting to run about and play. 

“Dumbledore will be arriving in a few hours,” Remus said softly. “He would have come immediately, but I told him you both needed rest. I’ll wake you then.”

***

“No,” Sirius said firmly.

“It’s the best protection we can offer him,” Dumbledore said. “A sacrifice of this nature is Old Magic, powerful magic.”

“Chancy, capricious, fickle magic,” Sirius said with a sneer. “There’s a reason the Old Ways aren’t followed by any but the foolish, these days. The results are too unreliable. You, of all people, should know that.”

Dumbledore let Sirius’ rudeness wash over him. “Petunia Dursley is Lily’s only blood relative. The Charm must be set as soon as possible, but then Harry will be safe with her, should Voldemort rise again before Harry turns seventeen.”

“But only safe from Voldemort, and only to a _degree_ ,” Sirius countered. “What about all those other Dark wizards who’d rather see him dead? The blood protection won’t stop _them_. You going to ward Petunia Dursley’s house till it sings? I don’t see her letting you do that any time soon. And you’d have every nosy parker within a hundred miles popping in to see why a house in a Muggle neighbourhood was lit up with magic like a Christmas tree.”

“Arabella Figg lives very close by. She has agreed to keep watch over Harry.”

“A _Squib?_ ” Sirius asked incredulously. “The closest thing in our world to a Muggle as a line of defence? They’d take her out first, or Imperius her into spying for them. She can’t so much as light a candle without a match, let alone defend herself,” Sirius snorted derisively, shifting the devilishly wriggly Harry in his arms so that the baby could pat at his face and tug on his hair. “And what makes you think the Dursleys would take him anyway?”

“Harry is family,” Dumbledore said simply. “It may take a little persuasion, but I am confident that Petunia will agree.”

Sirius glared at the elderly wizard sharply. “You plan on _bullying_ them into taking a child they already loathe the very _idea_ of?”

“Harry is the son of the sister Petunia resented, and the man she hated,” Remus interjected quietly. “He is the spit and image of James. He will almost certainly be a wizard himself. I do not think Petunia and Vernon Dursley would know what to do with a magical child, even if they did agree to take him.”

“It is for the best,” Dumbledore insisted. “They are his blood kin.”

“ _And I’m his godfather!_ ” Sirius retorted angrily. “Lily and Petunia barely had two words to say to each other that weren’t in anger since Lily first went to Hogwarts. When Harry was born, she and James chose _me_ , not them, to watch out for him.”

“You’re a young man, Sirius; only twenty-three,” Dumbledore contended. “You’ve never been settled like Lily and James, and you’ve only known war. How can you possibly care for a child?”

“I’ve got money,” Sirius said, his voice unyielding. “I’m young, but I’m powerful. And wayward son I may be, but I’ve still got influence where it counts.” He raised his chin to an imperious angle, managing to look imposing and regal somehow while Harry pulled roughly on his right earlobe. “The law is on my side,” he said. “I made a bond, a magical bond, in front of witnesses. Harry is mine, and I love him. You’ll have to take it to the Wizengamot if you want to challenge my claim.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I hope that, in time, you will rethink your decision, but I will not press you on the matter,” he capitulated. “I presume you have a location in mind, safer than this one? And security measures planned?”

“We’ll let you know when we’re settled,” Sirius said, in such a way that implied further information would be limited to what was strictly necessary. “Remus has agreed to help cast the Fidelius Charm and act as Secret Keeper.” Sirius had in no way raised or discussed any such arrangement, but Remus immediately nodded firmly, without so much as a flicker of alarm.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said reluctantly. “I wish you a safe journey, then, and all the best in your new life.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but nodded politely. Remus showed Dumbledore out before returning, his eyes troubled.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Padfoot?” he asked, worriedly.

Sirius stood, shifting Harry to one hip, and wrapped his free arm tightly around Remus, pulling him close. “No,” he whispered into Remus’ hair, with a slightly hysterical, sad laugh, his eyes blurring with unexpected tears. “But thank you. Thank you for helping me. Helping us.”

Remus stiffened briefly, before relaxing into the hug. He wasn’t naturally physically affectionate, but he raised a hand to rest comfortingly between Sirius’ shoulder blades, rubbing in a slow circle. “You should have warned me,” he grumbled. “I could have blown the whole thing. I very nearly did.”

“Didn’t plan it,” Sirius admitted. “But it was the only way he was going to leave us be. And I _do_ want you to be our Secret Keeper.”

From his perch on Sirius’ hip, Harry let out an irritated whine and wriggled again, nearly escaping Sirius’ restraining arm.

Remus and Sirius loosened their embrace slightly to look at the frustrated child. Harry was reaching downwards towards the floor and kicking his heels. 

“You can put him down now, Padfoot,” Remus said gently, that hand still softly stroking him reassuringly. “He’s safe. You’re _both_ safe.”

Sirius felt a jolt of panic. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. His breathing became rapid, his heart beat escalated. The sounds Harry was making were now high pitched squeals, his little display threatening to turn into a full on temper tantrum.

“Just crouch down and let him go, Sirius,” Remus continued, his voice soothing. “He just wants to be free for a while. He’s not going far. He’ll come back to you.”

Sirius hesitated for just a moment longer, before slowly lowering the child to the floor and releasing him. Harry’s shrieks transformed almost immediately into a chortle of delight, as he ran about full tilt on chubby legs, exploring the flat and testing the durability of all of Remus’ possessions left at toddler height.

Sirius’ arms felt empty, so empty. His face was wet and he could hear his breath escaping in ragged gasps. Remus turned him gently, and Sirius pillowed his face on Remus’ shoulder. He sobbed into the scratchy wool until the unmistakable tinkle of something breaking with spectacular finality drew him out of his grief, and back into the reality of new parenthood.


End file.
